Illustrator and artist from Istanbul. Currently based in Milan, trying to figure out what to do with herself.
I have been drawing for as long as I can remember. Yet, I have always found myself hidden in the shadows, unable to recognize my talent, lost behind someone else’s form. I rejected compliments and remained foreign to my own lines. I could never let drawing become a part of my identity, for art was sacred to me, something I never felt worthy of.
But something has changed, I suppose.
With the right moment and the right time I stand here now in my truest, most unique form. Art only exists when created, seen, and shared. So, I set aside my prejudices and the rigidity I once held within myself, and for the first time, I faced the mirror I unknowingly avoided.
I lost myself many times while creating Kairos, so I'm glad you found it.
Welcome to Kairos✶
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I look for you in corners of the city you’ve never seen, never walked, never felt. I wonder, wherever you are, do you search for me too? I miss you more than I should, more than I ever thought I could. Şahika.
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The silence around Adam grows heavier, pressing down on him until he can bear it no more. He screams—but with each cry, his echoes twist and tangle into themselves. He listens to his own existence, unraveling within his breath. Time stands still, for there is no witness to mark its passage. As if time itself has held its breath within him, waiting in stillness. No one knows at which breath this longing began. But now Adam sees—he must name his own echo.
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As if the skin carries a presence that clings to it, a weight it cannot shed. The more it is seen, the more it recognizes, the more it aches. Years pass, but the reflection endures. The face it once knew has changed, and maybe the face it seeks was never the same. The search feels endless, yet the moment to accept the loss has not come. There’s someone who listens to the silence within. No longer do footsteps leave a trace, nor do memories bear their weight. The emptiness inside carves itself deeper with each passing moment. Perhaps everyone now drags only their own shadow.
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Every fish, in the end, finds its own hook. The water is silent—no voices, no resistance. The one caught thrashes, but the others only watch. Some smirk, amused. Others turn away, pretending not to hear. Yet all of them, without exception, feel relief. Not because they understand, but because they are not the ones dangling at the end of the line. The witness stays silent. The case is dismissed. The hand that casts the line remains unseen. And the cycle continues, unbroken.
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At the heart of everything, time stands still. It waits on the edge of uncertainty—where a breath is drawn, where a shadow stretches, where a word lingers in its own echo. No one sees it, no one touches it. Yet, it is there. Without a witness, it dissolves into oblivion; with testimony, it carves itself into the fabric of existence. Time drifts through us like a silent watcher. In unnoticed moments, it shifts its form—disappearing in a breath, multiplying in a gaze. It does not cling, it observes. And as it watches, it seals our presence, binds us together, makes us whole.
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Time flows, yet the moment remains. I change, feelings shift, you evolve… but the moment stands still. I believe, I doubt, I burn, I break. Yet the moment does not waver. Different faces, different places, different illusions… but always the same moment. You and I, trapped within it, beneath the same sky, upon the same earth. In a world of fleeting things, you are the moment I return to.
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Even my own voice strikes me here. How can I breathe in this room? Breathe. I don’t wrap around the world; I don’t fit into this body. My soul wants out; it screams. How can I breathe? Breathe. If I no longer fit into these feelings, if I’ve tied my emotions to the very tip of my heart and carry them like a corpse, how am I supposed to take it in? Breathe. The walls are made of faces, the air is made of lead, and I am a stranger to my own voice. Breathe. Until there is nothing left to take. Breathe. Until you are finally gone.
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The mirrors count with me—years passing, moments fading into memories. Every time I look, my eyes blur; what once felt familiar grows faint, dissolving. As if it pities me. Time doesn’t simply pass—it settles into my face. The lines are deep, the lines are sharp. My heart beats louder than ever, deeper than it has ever been. Each breath feels like the last, each moment already exhausted. The mirrors are seeing me off. Every face I see is not me—yet each one carries a trace of me.
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Hide, of course, as much as you can. Hide from the mind that observes you every moment, that tracks every move, waiting for your fall. Hide while every thought reverberates, if you can. No one can see you, no one can touch you, perhaps. But as I wander like a shadow through the endless halls of your mind, hide, if you can.
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